


Requiem for Another Life

by Eireann



Series: Origins [4]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eireann/pseuds/Eireann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I have no friends.  Friends are people who betray you.'  </p>
<p>This had been Malcolm Reed's mantra for many years by the time he joined the crew of Enterprise.  But how did he first acquire it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem for Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> Star Trek and all its intellectual property belongs to Paramount/CBS. No infringement intended, no profit made.
> 
> This story has not been beta-read, so any mistakes in it are mine.

“May not be back tonight, Mal.  If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Lucky bastard.  See if he has a sister, will you?”

“Oh, and what’ll you tell the fair Maureen if I do?”

“I don’t know.  I’ll think of something.” 

The front door of the flat closed on the sound of Mark’s laughter, and Malcolm lay back on the couch and grinned.  He’d have rather liked to go down to the Embarcadero, but Maureen wasn't working there this evening, and although he thought he’d made some progress with coaxing her to go out on a date with him he hadn't yet succeeded in turning her interest into fact. 

She was probably the most physically attractive woman he’d ever met in his life.  Quite the opposite from Anna, with whom he’d had a protracted affair while at Uni in London; Anna had been a leggy blonde, slender and intellectual.  Maureen, on the other hand, was hardly a finger over five feet tall, an auburn-haired Irish girl, with a figure that made you think about some exotic Indian statue complete with ropes of pearls and several extra sets of arms. 

He should be getting on with his coursework, but he spared a moment to wonder where Anna was, and what she was doing now.  Her going without so much as a word of parting had cut him to the quick, but in hindsight he should have been expecting it.  He’d been young and in love – pathetically so, in hindsight, mistaking his induction into the arts of sex for something it manifestly wasn't. 

After her going, he’d plunged himself into the fleshpots with abandon, trying to find solace.  And having a whale of a time, it must be admitted.  Until the night he let one particular woman into his flat, and after that nothing had ever been quite the same again.  For one thing, instead of taking his expected place as an SBS trainee he’d ended up here in Starfleet, a cadet with a phobia about drowning.  That didn't debar him from Starfleet, as long as he could somehow contrive to pass the swimming part of the physical requirements – the rest of them would be a piece of cake – but it had been a heck of an issue for the Royal Navy.  So much so that when he’d failed that part of the entrance assessments his services had been gently but firmly dispensed with, leaving him with an invitation to apply for a career among the stars instead.

That thought produced the familiar clench in the gut, so he hurriedly turned his thoughts away from it towards Maureen.  He’d never been good at relationships, and after _that night_ he’d been worse than ever; any attempt by a woman at getting close to him induced a sensation of the sort of panic he normally associated with water.  Sex he could deal with, and did, but emotionally … emotionally he was shot to hell, at the ripe old age of twenty-two.

Maybe with Maureen it would be different.  She seemed somehow different, more relaxed than most of the women he knew.  Maybe he’d be able to let her in.

Maybe he should have a try with Mark, he thought idly.  His flatmate was bisexual, and he knew the man found him attractive.  A casual curiosity in that direction had led to them fooling around a bit one afternoon a few weeks earlier; it had been different and, yes, he’d found it more pleasurable than he’d expected to, but he wasn't ready for more than that, and to his relief Mark hadn't pushed him. 

That memory too he pushed away.  He was straight.  It had just been a bit of experimentation, that was all.

Bloody hell.  It was evidently time he got himself laid.  The thought of Maureen flitted across his mind, flirty and voluptuous.  Now _there_ was a form of drowning he wouldn't mind in the least….

In the meantime, he had a paper to get through by tomorrow night.  If he wanted to keep up his record of straight A’s he’d better give it all his attention.

And not think about Maureen at all.

=/\= 

It was late that night when he got back to the flat.

He’d worked hard at the paper all day, and though he’d been a bit distracted when he started he was good at buckling himself down to a job.  There were a still a few answers he wasn't satisfied with and would need to work through again tomorrow, but he was confident he could get through the paper in time.  Most of the questions that had given him trouble were the later ones, and he’d been tired and hungry.  It had probably been a mistake to skip dinner, resolving to catch something later.  By the time he actually _had_ got around to eating, he’d had a blistering headache, so the visit to the 602 club that followed hadn't been much of a pleasure – though he’d caught the eye of a pretty waitress there too, who might have been worth pursuing if he wasn't so interested in Maureen at present.

Bloody hell, he must have it bad – actually contemplating fidelity to a woman he’d never even succeeded in kissing yet…

Mark must be staying the night elsewhere.  There was no light anywhere in the flat.

Intending to walk through to the kitchen to get a drink of water before he went to bed, Malcolm was completely unprepared for the sudden convulsion of movement on the sofa as he switched the light on. 

It was difficult to know which of them was more horrified: Mark, Malcolm or the woman on whom the Englishman had set his sights over the past few weeks.  But there was no doubt at all which of them was the most furious.

The upbringing he’d had in the Reed household had made him a past master already at concealing his emotions.  He knew that the rage he felt must have blanched the skin over his cheekbones, but Mark’s eyes would be dazzled by the sudden radiance, and by the time the two on the sofa had scrambled themselves into some kind of seemliness the rage had gone cold, cold and infinitely dangerous.  And completely under his control.

He’d thought of Mark as a friend.  Now the truth crystallised in his mind as though it was engraved there on a sheet of duranium:  _I have no friends.  Friends are people who betray you._

Women had betrayed him.  Now a friend had betrayed him.  In that moment he swore that neither would ever get the chance again.

Maureen seemed to have been drinking.  She suddenly giggled, and let fall the throw that she’d briefly snatched up to cover her nakedness.  From her next words, it appeared that she was ‘up for it if he was’.

Mark probably wasn't entirely sober either.  His expression of guilty apprehension metamorphosed into a sly gleam of challenge.

It’s not often that you actually experience the distinct moment when the door closes on the person you might have been.  To Malcolm Reed, it seemed that he physically heard the snick of the lock.

Well.  If this was what his life was to be, only a fool would pass up the benefits available in it.

He leaned down.  The mouth he’d fantasised about kissing was soft and tasted of cherry brandy. 

 As for fidelity?

_Forget it_.

 

**The End.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> All reviews are sincerely appreciated as always.


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